Riverstar (3) (22 page)

They were all dripping wet and Annie steered them into the mudroom. Everyone disposed of shoes and jackets before making
their
way into the front room. Bella’s clothes were soaked through; her hair was dripping and she was shaking, perhaps with cold, perhaps
fear.

“Hot shower?” suggested Annie gently.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Come to our room.”

She nodded but turned to Peter. “Let’s get to Los Angeles and
talk to this Miss Zinn. There’s no time to waste.”

“I’ll get you tickets for the first flight out in the morning,” said Drake.

PETER AND BELLA LEFT
early Monday morning for the airport. Their flight arrived just before noon. Bella turned on her cell phone as they were waiting to disembark. There was a message from Mike.

“Bella, hey, just wanted to let you and Peter know I called my son to ask him about the Hough brothers. Zac remembered them
and said Lee’s recollection was right. Apparently this Rawley
thought himself quite the ladies man and was aggressive with girls. Zac said several of the girls in their grade told him that Rawley had basically forced himself on them. They didn’t call it rape but it sure sounds
like that now. Regarding Gale, Zac said what Lee said—he was
picked on and bullied at school. Apparently his own brother would have nothing to do with him and didn’t protect him either. I have no idea if any of this is relevant but wanted to pass it on anyway. Hope you guys are doing okay down there today. Call us when you return.”

They walked through the airport, Bella filling Peter in on the
voicemail Mike had left her. “Do you think any of it is relevant?” she asked.

“In this work, you just never know. The more information we have the better.”

After they rented a car, they drove to the film set on one of the
studio lots. Bella knew the guard at the gate. After exchanging
pleasantries, he allowed them through without even asking her what film she was associated with.

“Wow, Bella, you’re kind of a big shot in this town.”

“Hardly.”

“I’m going to call Brent and tell him I’ve replaced him with a younger and better-looking partner.”

They parked and walked over to the film’s set. It took only a few moments for Bella to spot a cameraman she knew who pointed them towards Chris Weaver’s trailer.

She knocked on the door and Chris answered almost
immediately, shaking her hand and then Peter’s. “Come on in, guys. Bella, great to meet you. You’re one of Stefan’s favorite people ever.”

Chris was plump, bearded, short, and looked vaguely familiar. She’d probably seen him in a dozen movies without ever knowing his name. This was the difference between being a movie star and a character actor. Stefan, because of his looks, was a movie star. Chris Weaver was an actor.

“Good gig this time,” he said, smiling. “Have my own trailer. I
play the frumpy district attorney.” He pulled on his beard. “This
thing’s driving me crazy but the real guy has one. Itchy as hell.”
Pointing at the small table and chairs, he asked if they wanted to sit. “Stefan told me you want to talk to Jocelyn but didn’t say what about.” He held up
his hands in a gesture of submission. “Not that I need to know. Or want to know, most likely. She’s on set today—just saw her at the craft table. Do you guys have a way to get her to talk to you?” His
brown eyes were curious. All actors were curious about everything, all the time.

“I thought I’d just flash my badge,” said Peter.

“Wow, man, that’s cool. I played a cop once,” said Chris. “The fat sidekick.”

“Oh, sure, I saw that movie,” said Peter. “Saw it with my real partner, Brent. He was bitter—says the sidekicks are always
portrayed as overweight.”

“Totally,” said Chris, grinning. “But I’m here to represent the ugly fat guys.”

“You’re adorable,” said Bella. “And a great actor.”

“A great actor no one’s ever heard of,” said Chris. “And I like it that way. Stefan and I go way back and I hate the way he’s hounded wherever he goes.”

Peter nodded in agreement. “I couldn’t stand it.” He glanced at his hands, shaking his head. “My wife’s an actress and I’m not sure I’m ready for it if she becomes well known.”

Bella explained that Cleo was taking Tiffany’s role. “Cleo went to school with Graham Rouse.”

“The producer?”

“Right,” said Bella, flushing.

“Stefan says he’s a douche,” said Chris.

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” said Bella with a glance at Peter.

“Dude, super sad about Tiffany,” said Chris. “I worked with her years ago. She had the chops back in the day.” He opened the mini-fridge and reached inside, pulling out several bottles of water. “You guys thirsty?”

They both took one and sat at the small table.

Chris joined them, wiping condensation from his bottle of water with his shirtsleeve. “Not that Tiffany would’ve even remembered
me or anything. It was one of my first movies—I had only had three scenes or something—but they were all with her and she was huge then. There were hundreds of screaming fans outside the studio
every night waiting for her.” He shook his head, obviously remembering. “And her sister—wow, I had the biggest crush on her.”

“You did?” asked Bella. “Sabrina?”

“Totally gone for her. She seemed so smart and was impressive, you know, especially to me, being new to Hollywood back then, how
she worked the industry and the press and everything. But she
wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

“Did you ask her out?” asked Bella, intrigued by this insight into
Sabrina. She must remember to tell her. Maybe there was still a
chance for them?

“Once.” His eyes clouded over at the memory. “She said
something like, ‘Don’t you mean my sister?’ And I was like, ‘No, I mean you,’ and I swear she looked through me like I was a ghost, and then she
pointed at her scar. ‘What? You’ll pretend like it’s Tiffany if I’m
angled the right way?’”

“No way,” said Bella. “That’s harsh.”

“Completely. Sent a shiver down my spine. I’ll never forget it.
Something so broken about her I didn’t see until that moment. You know how that is sometimes?” Chris stood, gesturing toward the door. “Anyway, let’s go see if we can find Jocelyn. Talk about a piece
of work. I’m surprised I’m not madly in love with her, actually. She’s as crazy and mean as they come. Totally my type.”

They found Jocelyn sitting with one of the associate producers near a table lined with sandwiches and fruit with an open flask in her hand. So much for rehab, thought Bella.

Peter introduced himself, showing his badge.

“This about Tiffany?” asked Jocelyn.

“Yeah. I just have a few questions,” said Peter.

“Why’s a Seattle cop investigating a murder in Oregon?” she
asked, standing, pushing long brown hair out of her eyes. She was tall and
slender, almost pretty if it weren’t for pockmarked skin and a
crooked
smile. And an overly exuberant nose job, thought Bella. Who the hell was her plastic surgeon? The man or woman should be court-martialed.

Peter shrugged. “We have our reasons.”

“Why should I talk to you?”

“Do you have anything to hide?” asked Peter.

“No.”

“Then why not?”

Jocelyn shrugged. The numerous bangles around her wrists
made a clattering noise. “Fine.”

“You want to use my trailer?” asked Chris. “You know, for
privacy.”

“That’d be great, doll,” said Jocelyn. She took a swig from her
flask, smacked her lips, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Come on then.” She pointed at Bella. “This your partner?”

“Yep,” said Peter.

“You’re kinda pretty for a cop,” said Jocelyn to Bella. “I know a way you could make a lot more money.”

Bella laughed. “That’s okay, I’ll keep my day job for now.”

***

Back in Chris’s trailer, they sat at the table. Peter took out his
notepad without taking his eyes from Jocelyn Zinn, who returned his gaze without so much as a flinch.

“What’s up?” she asked, taking another swig from her flask.

“When was the last time you heard from Tiffany Archer?” asked Peter.

She crossed her arms over her small chest. “It was at my house.
A month ago. The day my client book went missing.” She was
matter of fact, and quiet, almost eerily so, thought Bella.

Peter proceeded to fire questions at her, one after another, matching her calm tone. “You think she took this client list?”

“No doubt in my mind.” Jocelyn’s eyes flickered, like a cat
watching a fish bowl.

“Why?”

“Because a week later, four of my best clients, extremely high-
profile, called me to tell me they were being blackmailed. Didn’t
know by whom. But I know.”

“Why Tiffany?”

“Tiffany’s bad news. And she was broke. Doesn’t take a cop to
figure that out.” Well, maybe not, thought Bella. If Carrot Cop was any indication.

“Did this make you angry?” asked Peter.

“What do you think?” Jocelyn’s eyes flipped to Bella. “Could you look in the fridge and see if he has any beer?” She pointed at the miniature refrigerator near Bella’s feet.

Bella, without getting up from her chair, opened the refrigerator
door. Six beers were lined up neatly on the top shelf. “Corona or
Sierra Nevada?”

“Is there any lime?”

“No lime,” said Bella, stifling a smile. This Jocelyn Zinn was nothing short of outrageous in the best possible way. That is, unless
she was a cold-blooded killer in addition to being a boozed up madam. She
needed a reality show. Why hadn’t any of the idiots running this
town figured that out yet?

“Sierra Nevada then,” said Jocelyn.

Using the opener on the top of the fridge, Bella popped off the cap and handed Jocelyn the beer. What would come next? She had a
feeling it would be shocking. Something about Madam Zinn
guaranteed it. Regardless, it was better than anything television provided, she thought, settling into her chair to enjoy the show.

Peter shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes flat. He didn’t like
Jocelyn Zinn. Bella could tell by the way his handsome features had
turned stony. He was no fish in a bowl. No, more like a panther meeting
a mangy alley cat. Neither would back down, despite the ferocity of the
other.

“Angry enough to kill her?” asked Peter, as if the conversation about the beer hadn’t interrupted his questioning.

Jocelyn raised an eyebrow and tilted her head to the side. “Yeah, probably.”

“Probably?”

“I didn’t, but I would’ve liked to. I would never take the risk of murder—I have no intention of going to jail if I can help it. It’s impossible to commit the perfect murder. Isn’t that right, Mr. Ball?”

“In my line of work we like to think so.”

“Wasn’t sad to hear she was dead. Got rid of a bunch of my
problems. But I didn’t kill her.”

“Did you send men up to Oregon to get your client list back?”

Jocelyn’s grip around the beer bottle tightened but her face
remained passive. “Is that a crime?”

“Could be.”

“I wanted what was rightfully mine. She could’ve hurt a lot of
people with the information in that book. So yeah, I sent my guys up
there to get it. A pair of private detectives I use frequently…for various things.”

“And did they?”

She played with the silver locket that hung just above her
breasts. “They did not.”

“Did they kill her looking for it?”

Jocelyn took a long swig of her beer before looking Peter directly in the face. “No, they did not. They would not have, as those were not my instructions. And they’re private dicks, not hired killers. It’s my understanding hired killers are much more expensive.”

“Why should I believe, given how much you had at stake, that you didn’t hire those thugs to murder Tiffany Archer?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, like a sassy teenager in the principal’s office. “You can believe it or not. Regardless of your
unfounded suspicions, it’s the truth. None of this is complicated. I’m
a businesswoman hell-bent on protecting my clients. I’m not a
whore like the girls who work for me. I’m not a murderer. Nothing’s
worth taking some silly bitch’s life, no matter how perfectly
worthless she was.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and then moved her
beer in a circle around the table. “They followed her the night she
was killed but got nowhere. Some guy picked her up outside of the bar where they planned to confront her and convince her to give them the book.”

“Miss Zinn—”

Jocelyn interrupted him. “
Ms
. Zinn.”

“
Ms
. Zinn, do you think either of these so-called private investigators you hired are capable of rape and murder if pushed far
enough, despite your lack of orders to do so?”

“Tiffany was raped?” Jocelyn’s stoic mask cracked for an instant before being reassembled. Was it Botox or a cold heart that made her features so unreadable?

“Yes. Perhaps they broke in and decided to rape her and then murdered her to hide the rape?”

“No. I don’t.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Both my boys are gay. They’re married to one another, actually. Ceremony just last month. Strangest thing you ever saw—two men who look like they should be Marines fighting in one of those God awful countries, saying I do and kissing on a Santa Monica beach.” She crossed her arms over her chest again and must have dug her feet into the floor because her chair tilted back several inches. “Plus, they weren’t in her room that night.”